


Craigslist

by yuri_zhivago



Series: Wayne Anthology [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Batdad, Batfamily, batfam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-13 21:36:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18039506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuri_zhivago/pseuds/yuri_zhivago
Summary: Tim wanted to do something nice for his dad, he just needed one more part.Luckily, craigslist is full of all kinds of odds and ends.





	Craigslist

Tim leaned forwards on his desk lacing his fingers together and resting his chin just on top as he stared at Bruce in his office right across his own.

Bruce has been having a bad week trying to balance running Wayne Enterprise and keeping his eye on a new corporation in Gotham that's supposedly a front for drug trafficking.

Tim could see him pacing in his office, smooth talking a local politician on the phone for information on who actually got the shady corporation their permits. Bruce was very good at getting his way, could probably even convince the devil that it was _his_ throne.

Tim could tell though that all the pretending was getting to Bruce's nerves. The forehead vein the family has affectionately named "Agatha" is practically throbbing at this point.

Tim sighs and decides he wants to do something nice for his dad, help him take his mind off things.

He swivels his chair around and drops his arms, sinking fully into the recliner.

"What do you give a billionaire who has everything?"

_Guess I could convince the dumdums to finally go to therapy like B always wanted._

Tim snorts at his own joke, only way his brothers would go to therapy was over their dead bodies and Tim didn't really feel like killing anyone right now. 

He sees a glint from Bruce's office that catches his attention, he gets up and peers through his door. 

There on a table by the bookshelf was Thomas Wayne's Remington typewriter. Tim smiles as he closes his door, remembering that it was one of Bruce's favorite mementos of his father, that broke last week after over 50 years of service. 

Tim sits at his desk and begins researching all he can about typewriters, determined to get it working again himself.

* * *

 

"This is fun, maybe I should quit and start my own typewriter repair shop." Tim muses from his office floor elbows deep in grease and gears with his sleeves pushed up to his arms. 

"Red Robin, typewriter aficionado by day, vigilante by night. It's the perfect cover." 

Tim wipes his brow and takes his work out for a test. He tries typing out the Wayne Enterprise dress code.

**-shrts mst be worn at all tmes, no exeptons.**

"Hmm, looks good just a few sticky keys. I feel like a journalist from the fiftes."  

He wipes his hands on an embroidered handkerchief and inspects his work. 

_Well, I've already combed through most of the local antique shops and still can't find that last part to bring everything together. Even amazon and eBay doesn't have 'em._

Tim sulks until an idea hits him right in the middle of his perfectly coiffed bangs. 

It's so stupid it might actually work. 

Craigslist. 

Tim whips out his phone and begins his search. 

_No._

_No._

_Nope._

_Uh..._

_This is just a straight up ad selling human hair._

Tim groans and continues searching for thirty more minutes until he stumbles upon a diamond in the rough. 

His eyes quickly dance across the screen, thinking it all too good to be true. 

For Sale: Remington Typewriter No.3 Working condition, sold as is. Formerly owned by Tina Turner.

Well it wasn't the exact same model as Bruce's but Tim figured it probably had the part he was looking for. He squinted as he wondered what Tina Turned had to do with this but didn't give it much more than a second thought. 

He called the seller immediately, not wanting to waste any more time. 

"Hello, I have an inquiry about the typewriter you're selling?"

...*grunts* "Yeah, what of it?"

Tim pouts. _Okay, rude._

"I was wondering if I may purchase it?" _You craigslist weirdo who probably stole this from someone's grave._

"How many?" The seller's voice sounds perkier but still grating to Tim's ears.

"Uh, one?" For someone reason, Tim could practically smell this guy through the phone. It was unpleasant.

"One, huh? You don't sound like you do this often kid. How old even are you? "

"Does that even matter? Tim's getting frustrated at this point."

"It matters if you have the money for the merchandise or not."

"I'll give you 400$ cash, that's way above asking if you meet with me right now. Tim growls out, eyes rolling as far as they can."

Honestly, he's just trying to buy a typewriter. 

"Woah, you one of them preppy rich boys needing a fix, huh? Deal brat, public meet ups only. I'll be waiting by Gotham Harbor in 30 minutes, I don't see you then deals off."

He hung up.

_What the heck was that supposed to mean?_

Tim was a MAN, not some boy. In fact, if you exclude Bruce, Dick, and Jason; Tim had the deepest voice in the family. The nerve of that guy.

Tim grabs his parka and takes an Uber to Gotham harbor. 

* * *

_Okay, I have this unsettling feeling I'm about to be killed._

The sun's almost completely sunken by now and Tim realizes he probably should have told someone where he was going. He balances himself precisely on the railing of the pier so he’d have a place to sit, while he wraps his parka tighter around his office clothes.

Just as he wonders if he's cleared his browser history recently a brown toyota corolla parks next to him. 

"You Iced'Tim2011?" A man with a patchy beard and heavily tinted shades asks.

"Yeah, I really need the typewriter. It’s for my dad." Tim says as he hops down from the railing.

"Whatever you say kid, you got the money?"

As Tim nears the car he notices a man in the passenger seat and another in the back. They're heavily covered by shadows at this point as the sun has completely set and the only light they have is from a flickering lamp post.

Tim’s Red Robin sense is tingling, which is what he calls it when his common sense and self-preservation work together. He discreetly activates the tracker on his watch, which will send out a distress signal if he doesn’t turn it off in 30 minutes.

He tries to appear casual by stuffing his hands in his pockets then nodding towards the men in the car. "Lot of people for a delivery wouldn’t you say?"

"It’s a heavy computer kid." The man in the back whispers something to the one in the passenger seat. An eerie smile stretches on his face.

 _Computer…? Oh crap._ Realization suddenly dawns on Tim.

The driver looks Tim up and down and proceeds to hold up a zip-lock bag of  what looks to be broken glass.

_Crap. Crap. Crap_

"Here you go kid, one gram of Tina Turner. Brought the boys since we like playing it safe for first time buyers. You look like your jonesing already though."

 _Holy crap, this is a drug deal._ Tim is in the middle of the harbor doing a drug deal. If a lucky paparazzo or reporter get a photo of him right now, it would end his life. Bruce would fire him, maybe even disown him from the family.

Dick would do that thing where his eyes get all misty then he’ll whisper the “oh, baby bird…” in disappointment that always makes Tim feel like poop. Jason will probably beat his ass then give him the “You dumb fu-…” lecture then make him eat the drugs, baggie included.

And Damian, poor sweet Damian. Tim’s only little brother, my god he’ll be devastated. Tim knows he’s probably Damian’s idol and that Tim could do no wrong in his eyes, practically worships the ground he’s walked on. That thought actually makes him tear up a bit.  

“Yo, bro why are you crying? Just take the shit and pay us.”

"Uh yeah, there may have been a misunderstanding gentlemen." Tim says as he backs away from the car while holding both his hands up.

The man in the passenger seat immediately gets out and stalks forward.

“Worried what daddy might think?”

…and everything suddenly gets ten times worse.  

Tim hangs his head and drops his hands as he quickly takes stock of every exit he could make without fully revealing what he was capable of.

The man still staring him down yells to his group.

"You don’t recognize this skinny fucker, Frankie?"

 _Skinny?!_ Again, with the exception of Bruce, Dick, and Jason; Tim would be the most built out of them all. He scoffs at the low grade thugs.

The driver. "Frankie" gets out as well along with the man from the back. Tim figured that was the one he had to look out for seeing as he was smart enough to recognize him.

Tim starts backing away now. “Look, I literally just wanted a typewriter. I’m very sorry for wasting your time.”

He tries to loosen his jaw and make his eyes wider but in his mind all Tim can think is “ _Boy,_ _if I was in uniform right now I would yeet you so hard.”_

“This is Tim Wayne, man. Probably has thousands on him right now.”

Frankie replies “So just because you’re some rich fuck you think you can drop deals like in your cushy office, huh?” He pulls out a butterfly knife and proceeds to open it impressively... if an untrained eye was watching.

Tim just thinks  _"Meh, Cass has bigger ones and I’ve seen her juggle with them."_

Right now Tim has three options. One, he could engage and take three drug dealers off the streets. That would compromise his identity though, and he really liked the shirt he was wearing right now and didn’t particularly want to get it dirty.

Two, he could give everything he has of value to these men with the hope that they would let him walk away. This though might not work, if they were smart and greedy for Tim was worth so much more and letting a witness walk away was not a very good idea.

Three, he could run as fast as he can.

_Haha, yeah no, these shoes are worth more than Dick’s car. They’ll crease._

"How about I just pay you hard working men for your time and we can put all of this behind us?"

Tim tries his best to keep the sarcasm out of voice.

"Why would we accept chump change when you’re literally worth billions?" Says the one who ID’d Tim. He starts reaching for a gun Tim catalogued earlier on his waistband.

_Ah, man. I was hoping not to sweat in this shirt. Better make it fast._

Tim changes his demeanor on a dime and slips into a fighting stance. Even to the untrained thugs whose fighting was probably limited to street brawls, they could feel a sudden shift in the air. All three of them took a step back, suddenly feeling like prey instead of predator.

Tim doesn’t even let the gun leave the man’s belt, he gives him a quick palm strike to the solar plexus knocking his air out then spins around to deliver an elbow to the throat. With his feet lithe and quick he ducks down from what would have been a solid punch from Frankie the driver. Tim knees him in the crotch then kicks out his ankles toppling him to the ground. Last man standing, Tim cracks his knuckles, and lets out a weary sigh.

"Hey man, this is as embarrassing for me as it was for you. I just wanted to buy a freaking typewriter while your friends got their butts kicked by someone half their sizes."

The remaining man looks like he’s smart enough to call a cease fire. He drops his fists but scowls deeply. “You think we’re gonna let this slide kid?”

“Nope. But here’s how it’s going to go down.” Tim’s voice drops a few octaves and his eyes darken just enough that the thug feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Tim removes his watch and throws it to the thug who catches it with one hand.

"Since this was my fault, seeing as I did call you first; whatever. I’m going to give you my watch we can both forget what we saw and just all call it a day." The man nods with an annoyed expression on his face, at least knowing when he's out matched and turns his back to Tim as he tries to rouse his downed buddies.

 _Hmm. Not very smart to turn your back on an enemy._ Tim sighs and runs his hands through his hair. As he walks away, hopefully to a more crowded area where he can finally call an Uber.

Tim probably gives the drug dealers five… maybe six more minutes before one of the Bats descend to respond to the distress signal from his watch. He really hopes its either Nightwing or Red Hood. Those guys could really use 50,000 volts to the head or a bullet to the knees.

Tim sits at an empty bus stop shed waiting for his Uber.

_Hmm, I think that pawn shop in Dresden is still open._

* * *

 

Bruce walks into Tim’s office where he finds him asleep on the couch covered by his suit jacket which Bruce roughly pulls off of him, making Tim jerk away and stare at him with bleary eyes.

"Oh, hey. Morning, B. You good dad? You have breakfast yet?" Tim says as he stretches out and sits up rubbing his eyes.

Bruce stares him down with an unimpressed look while crossing his arms.

"Why didn’t you come home last night?"

"Uh, I was here working." Tim replies in his most emotionless voice.

"Wrong, would you like to try again?" Bruce raises his eyebrows as Tim groans.

"Oh my god did he tell you? Jason is such a tattletale. Look I didn’t mean to go to a drug deal! It just happened!"

"Drug deal?!" Bruce’s eyebrows reach his hairline as he exclaims this.

“All Jason told me was that you had info that lead him to a low tier distributor who had a laptop at their base with encrypted files that could lead us to the online drug trafficking ring we’ve been working on.” Bruce looks visibly relieved explaining this to Tim as he finally loses some of the stress he’s been carrying.

“I was just asking if you were with him last night, what are you talking about Timothy? Are you okay?”

 _Ohh, busted. I should really think before opening my mouth. Maybe I am on drugs._ Tim sighs.

"Okay, okay, so I went on craigslist looking for something and had no idea that when an ad has Tina Turner in it, it’s actually code for methamphetamine." Tim says all in one breath

Tim could see “Agatha” bulging on the side of Bruce’s forehead now. It looks like she’s trying to break free.

"Why oh why, Timothy would you do something so impulsive? You’re not usually one to make such brash decisions." Bruce replies in an exasperated tone. 

He takes a seat next to Tim on the couch with a confused expression on his face as Tim begins to grin wide and get up towards his shelf.

“I fixed your typewriter dad.” Tim says as he pulls the dust cover off and brings it to Bruce.

“I tried looking for a part on craigslist but that didn’t turn out so well so I drove down to a pawn shop in Bludhaven, I just finished this morning. Its’ almost as good as new.”

Bruce stands up and takes the typewriter out of Tim’s hands and gapes slightly, he held the machine with as much care and gentleness as he would a newborn baby.

“How Timmy? I took this to a professional and they told me it was beyond fixing; at most it was a glorified paperweight.” Bruce looked at Tim with such warmth in his eyes Tim had to look away.

“Well y’know its your dad’s… I know I’d do anything for my dad, no matter what people tell me.” Tim replies like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Tim said a lot of things after that but Bruce couldn't really process another thought apart from wondering how he ever got so lucky.

Bruce almost drops Tim’s gift in his rush to put it down. He grabs Tim’s face in his hands staring almost in awe as he squishes his cheeks a bit before pulling him into a hug.

“Thank you, son. You don’t know how much this means to me” Tim buries his face in Bruce’s suit as he hugs him back sighing in contentment. “and I don’t just mean for fixing the typewriter.” He felt as if nothing else in the world matter as long as he had his boy in his arms

“I know… You’re welcome, dad.”


End file.
